


Not such a losing battle

by FactoryKat



Series: The Mages' Champion and the Healer's Hope - The Wyatt Hawke Collection [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders Positive, Arishok - Freeform, Arishok duel, Battle, Blood, Blood and Injury, Custom Male Hawke, Dragon Age II - Act 2, Dragon Age II Spoilers, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy Ending, Healer Anders (Dragon Age), Healing, Injury Recovery, M/M, Magic, Multi, Purple Hawke, Qunari, handers - Freeform, mhanders - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 04:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17859941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactoryKat/pseuds/FactoryKat
Summary: The duel against the Arishok wasn’t easy, but Hawke pulled it off and barely escaped with his life no less. Anders is fiercely protective of Hawke during the recovery process. So much that he gives Isabela an earful when she comes to visit.





	Not such a losing battle

They were but helpless to simply watch as Hawke narrowly avoided the kiss of death as he faced the Arishok. Mage versus Qunari leader, it was a battle of paradox, the unstoppable force against the immovable object. Hawke was fierce on the field, commanding a formidable control over his magic. He would fight until his last, but never throwing caution to the wind, even with a spirit healer on his side. Often, watching him fight was akin to a mesmerizing dance and left many impressed and excited. But this? It was agony, and Anders strained against Aveline’s vigilant eye. She did not physically restrain him from rushing into the fray, that was his own personal responsibility, but maker _damned_ if Justice did not warn him against such a foolish notion he might have have needed her to do it. Despite his feelings over such an arrangement, even the fade spirit was wise enough to know anyone who would dare interfere would risk not simply their own lives, but could just as easily turn the delicate tide too far in favor of the horned barbarian. An attempt to help Hawke could mean getting him killed instead.

 _Trust!_ Anders shouted at himself, repeating it like a mantra as he stood stock still with a white-knuckle grip on his staff. _Trust that Hawke knows what he’s doing. That he will-_

Steel scraped against stone, making the crowd jump, as the Arishok’s mighty weapon narrowly missed the mage by a fraction of a hair. Genuine terror flashed across his usually stoic face only for a moment before he stamped it down and gathered his resolve again. This went on for an agonizing hour more until first blood had been taken. Nothing significant, not yet, but it was enough for the crowd to erupt into angry shouting, jeers and hollering. No one _truly_ wanted the Qunari leader to win, but it was still good sporting event to the lot all the same.

Worst yet was was when enough brilliant red lifeforce splattered to the floor of the viscount’s hall and Anders felt his heart drop. His knees nearly buckled when Hawke’s outcry of agony ripped through the hall. His eyes fell on the sight of Wyatt pinned to the far wall, the split steel head of the monstrous sword lodged firmly in the mage’s abdomen. Even so, the ferocity on his face suggested he wasn’t finished. Hawke proved as much by thrusting the bladed end of his staff upwards and right into the soft underflesh of the Arishok’s now unguarded jaw. The bronze-skinned giant staggered backwards on his feet, giving Hawke the window to wrench the Qunari’s blade free from his chest. Everyone looked on in a mix of both abject horror and astonishment as the sword clattered on the ground noisily, still dripping wet with sticky red blood. He barely avoided collapsing right there on the stone floor of the keep but held it together long enough for him to end the battle with a wild flourish, drawing on the fade and his own inner will to pull forth a frozen burst frome one hand and an arc of wild flame in the other.

With a furious war cry, Hawke unleashed on the Arishok, delivering the final blow to sunder him and claim victory.

It was a surprise that Anders could hear anything between the sound of his own racing pulse and blood pumping in his ears seemingly in rhythm with the cheering crowd, but it was Varric shouting that pulled the healer from his stupor. “Blondie! I think you better get out there!”

He couldn’t afford to panic, not when he had a job to do.

“Heh. That-” Hawke struggled to stay standing and relied on Anders for balance who intercepted him before his legs gave out. Even so, he grinned victoriously as the high of battle had not yet run its course through him. “That’s a _lot_ of blood,” he joked as he pulled his hand away from his chest to see it stained red. “And I am _definitely_ not cleaning this up…” More jokes. Hawke’s sense of timing wasn’t always the best but his ability to still make light of the situation was almost more impressive than his fighting prowess had been.

A murmur rolled through the spectators as they started to rally around their new champion. Aveline was relieved to have the responsibility of holding them at bay taken from her by Meredith. No one complained as the Knight-Commander seamlessly inserted herself as the authority de facto while she corralled the crowd. That was for another time. With the chaos erupting in the keep it wouldn’t be wise to dally here long. “We need to get him to my clinic. It’s going to take more than a few bandages and an elfroot potion to fix _this_ and I’m not doing it here in the middle of the keep!” Anders declared, trying to force as much confidence into his voice as possible, but Aveline could see the seeping wound on her friend’s torso. She knew it was imperative they heed his advice.

“Shit.” She cursed as she helped Anders get Hawke to his feet again. “Come on. Let’s move.”

Isabela wasn’t about to follow them and slipped away unnoticed to anyone but Varric. He made no attempt to stop her. Instead, he put his efforts to the task of assisting Aveline and Anders who both escorted Hawke out of the Viscount’s keep safely and spirited him away to the clinic in Darktown. They could handle it from there.

* * *

 

[Later - at the Hawke Estate]

 

Anders  would have preferred Isabela didn’t visit, but that wasn’t his call to make. Misfortune found himself locked in an argument with the former pirate captain. Something that didn’t happen often, considering she was one of the least confrontational of their mutual companions.

“You do realize this is _your_ fault? Because of your selfishness!”

“What? He’s the one who chose to fight, _not me_. Besides, I already-”

“He could have been killed, almost _was_ even! Do you ever think of anyone but your-”

Their bickering was interrupted by rustling fabric and other signs of life. Distressed moans accompanied an anguished yelp as Hawke stirred, hastily trying to sit up and rest his back against a bulwark of pillows. “Would you two, _please-_ ” Somehow, he had found the strength enough to scold his companions before pain bloomed from his chest and snaked through his extremities like jolts of electricity. Even the slightest movement found him squinting and hissing through clenched teeth.  They ceased their petty banter and Anders felt his heart leap into his throat for the second time in as much as a week. He ignored the seafarer as his instincts as both a healer _and_ a lover overrode his anger, putting him immediately at Hawke’s bedside wearing a face wrought with both concern and annoyance.

“You should lie back down, love, before you reopen your wounds. I can only do so much to help if you don’t give your body a chance to recover.”

With a few strained grunts and groans, Wyatt forced himself to a sitting position finally, in spite of Anders concerns. He took hold of the healer’s hand, giving it a gentle but reaffirming squeeze. “I’ll be fine, Anders. Thank you.” A smile carved itself onto his face even through the ache and agony. “You two bicker like you’ve been married for years. What earth shattering matter requires my attention _this_ time?” Hawke was not one to let much stifle his awkward attempts at humor, least of all almost dying.

 _“Hawke,”_ Anders groaned, a mixture of both relief and exasperation could be heard in his tired voice.  

Putting aside her disagreement with Anders, Isabela laughed heartily. She too was glad to see her friend in such good spirits after what happened. “Oh no, he’s _all yours_. Anyway, I just came by to see how you were doing. The last thing I need is you dying after sticking your neck out for me. And you still owe me five sovereigns from our last game of Wicked Grace.”

Hawke’s laughter filled the room, the sound robust and warm and full of so much _life_ in spite of the grievous injuries he sustained from his duel with the Arishok. It cloaked them all in a familiar comfort that Anders quietly relished and made him realize how absurdly lucky he was to have all of this.

_It won’t last. You’ll muck it up. Somehow._

The dissenting voice in the recess of his mind was not Justice, he knew not to blame such intruding thoughts on the spirit. No, his was the persistent warnings to not involve himself with these people, with Hawke who would - _ONLY SERVE TO DISTRACT YOU FROM YOUR CAUSE BRINGING TROUBLE TO YOUR DOOR -_ or something like that, Anders mused to no one’s awareness.

Another round of boastful laughter followed discernibly by obvious attempts to stifle pained groans reminded Anders of what he had been doing and where he was. Of all of the patients he had ever treated, Hawke was perhaps the worst. Not because of their intimate relationship, but because the man had a stubborn side. He didn’t always like to sit still, there was always too much to do, something that needed his attention these days. Hawke’s name held weight to it and that would only get worse after this. Anders had been told, on more than one occasion no less, to conserve his mana, that his other patients needed him much more. A kind gesture, but stupid.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun, but you’re bothering my patient. Now get. Go get drunk with Varric or something.”

“I get it. Kicking me out so you can properly _nurse him back to health_ ay? You two have fun then. I won’t keep you.” The grin on her lips was audible in her voice as she teased Anders, with all the best of intentions and good humor.  
  
“Ughh. Isabela! Get out!” Exasperated, he physically ushered the pirate out of the room, not doing anything to hide the growing flush to his cheeks. She laughed but had no objections.

“I don’t know, I think she’s onto something.” Hawke’s words drew Anders attention, once he was sure Isabela was out of sight (and earshot).

“Is that right?” He was willing to entertain this line of conversation, already knowing where it was going to lead. Before their relationship began, Anders recalled that Hawke had never been anything but sweet if even gentlemanly in his manor towards him. What flirting he had done was reserved, innocent, as if he had been testing the waters. There were moments, mostly while intoxicated, he had shown himself to be unexpectedly shy, maybe a touch awkward but in an endearing fashion. Now?

Now it seemed as if Hawke had taken cues from Anders younger self. Not that he was complaining.

“I could use some more of your healing touch right about now…” Hawke drew back the duvet to emphasize to prove there was plenty of room for Anders to slip into the oversized bed beside him.

“That’s not going to work, you know you should be resting.” The healer chided, gently, though amused by Hawke’s valiant efforts to lure him.  
  
“Yes but I’d rest easier with you next to me!” He reached for Anders hands, nearly pulling him right off his feet.  
  
“Hawke, no.”

“Hawke, _yes_ you mean”  
  
“Andraste’s knickers you’re impossible. Alright. Fine. You win.” Anders conceded and immediately started shedding layers of clothing. After setting his belongings aside, he settled in under the sheets beside his lover. Hawke’s arm snaked around his waist drawing him close enough to bury his face in the healer’s disheveled blonde hair. Long, dextrous fingers traced over his chest and abdomen, awash in the familiar but subtle blue halo of fade energy. A few minutes drifted by and Anders could feel the tension drain from Hawke’s prone form and listened as his breathing slowed calmly and heartbeat steadied, all signs that he was at ease, just on the very edge of sleep. Once his own exhaustion caught up with him, he welcomed the inevitable without a fight...


End file.
